


Your Uncertain Footprints

by Deejaymil



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunken Shenanigans, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Little of substance, One Night Stands, PWP, Season/Series 12, Shower Sex, Spoilers, Unit Chief Prentiss, WITSEC Hotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 05:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: He’s not her boss anymore, but that’s hard to remember when he’s sitting next to her in his suit and tie and looking every bit like he’s about to drain his glass and murmur,wheels up. She’s not his subordinate anymore, but she feels absolutely subordinate in trousers crushed from the plane ride, a shirt that has spots of alcohol on the sleeve, and with her make-up all washed off. And she’s not supposed to be here, he’s not supposed to know.Everything tonight is breaking all the rules.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greeneyedconstellations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneyedconstellations/gifts).



> He’s not her boss anymore, but that’s hard to remember when he’s sitting next to her in his suit and tie and looking every bit like he’s about to drain his glass and murmur, _wheels up._ She’s not his subordinate anymore, but she feels absolutely subordinate in trousers crushed from the plane ride, a shirt that has spots of alcohol on the sleeve, and with her make-up all washed off. And she’s not supposed to be here, he’s not supposed to know, and everything tonight is breaking all the rules.

He slides around and presses close and she knows it’s because he’s lonely. He misses them. He misses his job, his life, maybe he misses her. Maybe he’s drunk. She definitely is. She had to get drunk to do this, to break all the rules, because she’s breaking and she can’t do that in front of the team. He never did. Or, he did, a few times, but she’d never get away with half the shit hallowed Hotchner did, mostly because she’s got a cunt instead of a cock and the higher ups won’t let her forget it.

His head droops and she eyes his neck. Hair grown slightly longer than he used to wear it and collar sitting stiff. Unused to suits now. Maybe he works as a cashier now. Bagging groceries. Frowning at people using expired coupons. Maybe he’s a schoolteacher. Maybe he just sits at home with Jack and tries not to check behind all the doors for shadowed nightmares.

“Aaron,” she says, and he looks back up blearily. He is drunk. She shouldn’t be here. His hand is brushing her thigh. “We should go.” _Go home,_ she means, _go away._

They do go home. His home. Silent. The taxi ride is silent. She gets out at a modest apartment. Jack’s at a camp. Not Jack Hotchner anymore though. Jack… Willow? Was that it? She doesn’t remember. She should. Damn brain.

She can’t do this.

“I can’t be you,” she thinks she mutters to his back, and then his front when he turns around and looks at her. “I’m fucking it up.”

He blinks. Low and slow and his mouth is lined heavily. Swaying, he fumbles with his tie.

Instead of letting him undo it, she grabs it by the skinny end and drags him into her. Hard enough that he stumbles and her back hits the wall of this pastel hole where they’d hidden him away and let her take his place, despite her feet being far too small for his polished leather shoes. They kiss. Slow. Tedious. They kiss like they’re not allowed, and they’re not, but they do. Fuck the rules. Fuck Emily Prentiss and fuck Aaron Whoever-he-is-now, and maybe that’s what she’s gonna do tonight instead of doing something sensible like anything else.

He knows about Spencer. She can see it in his recriminatory gaze. He doesn’t say anything though. It would hurt him too much to acknowledge how much they’re hurting without him. She knows he’s miserable. She can see it in how quickly he gives into her mouth, lips slipping together, slipping away, pausing, breathing hot and heavy against each other with noises like stifled moans of wanting. He kisses, gasps, tries again, whimpers, closes his eyes. A succession of events as his mind reminds him that he’s thinking of fucking her against this wall like she’s nothing but a body to him, and she rolls her hips against him to remind him that he can be a body to her as well.

He’s cocked against her thigh, hard and hot under his sensible suit, and she does it again and wonders if he’s ever been this ready to fuck around her before. This drunk, never. This horny? Who knows. Maybe sitting at his desk with her sitting across from him, his crotch obscured, one thumb working the tented shape under the shadow of his desk as he lectured her about operational procedure. Maybe at a hotel one night he bid her goodnight and then walked calmly back to his room to fuck the memory of her out into his hand. Maybe the hour before he called her in to replace him, a saltatory goodbye to the woman he’d wanted and never let himself have.

“Do it,” she tells him, and wraps her legs around his. Rubs against him, wishing there was less between them, wishing there was more. “I’m here. Have me. Just fuck me, Aaron, _fuck_.”

He grits his teeth and throbs against her, his whole body tensed and ready. Isolated, lonely, maybe he hadn’t had anyone in years. Like a rocket ready to blow with her in the firing line. She strokes the fuse and hopes the impact will hurt, because she’s failing and he’s still gorgeous.

“We should sober up,” he says, stupidly sensible even now, and he says it into her mouth even as he kisses her greedily. She sucks in his bottom lip, nips, feels him twitch into her. Tongues and teeth and hands exploring, skimming, and she pushes him away and rolls her eyes. They’re not going to stop. She knows this already. God, fuck, she’s left Reid in fucking _prison_ and failed everyone by proxy, she’s not going to leave here tonight without offering something to this never-forgotten man.

“Shower, then,” she says, and unbuttons her shirt. Lets it drop, lets her bra hit the ground after. Stands bare-chested and bold with her pants still belted proudly around her waist as he stares at her tits. Almost unconsciously, his hand drops, skims his pants, and her stomach drops with it and turns into a jolt of _yes_ that culminates in a wet flush between her hips. “Then bed.”

He's not her boss anymore, so he lets her order him around and stumbles after.

The water is hot. He grabs her arm, gentle despite his tight grip, and checks the water temperature. Like she’s Jack—except Jack is probably a little too old now for him to bother, but he does for her anyway—and she waits until he’s naked before doing the same. The water on his body is an arresting sight. Droplets spooling down shoulders still broad despite the weight on them, still scarred from his past, still muscled despite his inactivity. She steps under the lukewarm water with him and presses him out of the spray so she can lick those droplets from his body, feeling his softened cock hardening up between her thighs. And he watches with those same dark eyes, as she laps at his shoulder, his collarbone, and finally bites down on his throat and rides a wave of _wanting_ as she ruts against his body. The water doesn’t mask how wet she is, how hot, and the shameless thrust of her hips against his presses him up hot between her legs. Every line and bump of him, every minute detail, and she grips with her mouth and sucks hard.

He's startled. He’s aroused. He grabs her by the hips, lets his back hit the wall and almost carries her out the shower as he grunts and lifts her onto him more firmly. He’s bigger than her, so much stronger, and she feels like a toy almost as he forgets himself and drags her close. And then he’s against her, inside her, and there’s a slippery, fumbling moment where they’re fucking without rhythm or planning and she’s just kissing him anywhere she can reach as he desperately tries to work himself apart in her. One leg braced against the wall by her knee, his big hands steady around her sides, she leans back so he can thrust more deeply in and almost waterboards herself with the stream. Breathless and panting, he whirls around. Slips out and she whines, reaching down for his dick that sticky with her, feet slapping on the tiles, and he bows over her with his back to the water and protects her from the spray as he presses back into her.

Slow this time. Steady and breathless, pushing up and in. She holds her breath with every inch he takes, until her ears are ringing and spots dance in her vision, and he’s flushed with his mouth slightly open, wet hair plastered into his eyes. Slow until he loses patience and slams home, rocking up and into her with a thrust that taps her ass against the tiled wall and elicits a moan from her that takes all her air to expel. She feels him harden inside her at the moan, feels him twitch, and wonders if she could make him come just by choking out his name with her nails scrabbling a story into his back.

Just to see, she finds his back and grips tight, nails biting down. Just like she thought, it’s her turn to moan and it’s a gorgeous noise, deep and throaty and the right shade of fuck-me-husky. He’s faster now, hips riding no particular rhythm, and he manages to ask, “How do you want to come?” with water running down his chin.

“Any way,” she pants, finding his throat and nipping again. Breathing hot against the wet skin. “Any how. Just do it. Please. Please, Aaron, fuck, _please_.”

He slips his hand down, _yes_ , thumb on her clit and traces a pattern around it as he sways his cock inside her. Just to see if he can, she slides her knee up his side, an open invitation, and he takes it. Lifts it with his palm, one eyebrow raised and the water turning his shoulders red, and then takes his hand away from her clit and lifts her other leg. Holding her completely, supporting her weight against the wall, and he’s probably going to slip and have the most embarrassing emergency call ever, but fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing.

“Oh?” he queries with a rare little smile. “Just my cock then?” And he purrs the word cock and she mewls and tightens around him. Shit. He might actually be able to. Holding her weight, her back squeaking against the tile, he fucks her slow and he fucks her hard and he bites the shell of her ear, breathes against her skin and begins to tell her how much he’s always fucking wanted her. _Dreamed of fucking you in the jet,_ he tells her, and begins to lose rhythm. _Bent over my desk, your pretty dress hiked up and panties pulled to the side._ That one gets her going. Jesus, fuck, _does_ it get her going.

“Wait,” she breathes, before he can go on, and wraps herself around him. Shivering and trembling and she knows he knows she’s dancing on the edge. Can probably feel her muscles flickering around his cock, feel the sparks building. Another flush of wet, she’s too wet, too gone for this, and she feels like she’s going mad imagining it. Begins to create it, stammering out some helpless desire as he stares at her, stunned. His hips twitching.

The dress is red, the one she knows he fucking loves. Middle of the day, it has to be. She loves the power he’s showing, this fantasy of taking her without fear of discovery. She submits completely because she knows he gets off on power fantasies. And she tells him, in that shower with the water humming around them and his cock inside her, of how in this fantasy he fucks her until he comes inside and she lets him watch the evidence of that slip out along with his cock when he’s done. How she pulls her dress back over the mess, stands in front of him, and lets him trails a finger across her, in her, and brings it forth wet and slick. How she walks back into the bullpen and sits at her desk, uncomfortable and sticky and getting hot all over again knowing he’s looking down on her and knowing what they’ve done.

“Fuck,” he explodes before she’s finished drawing this picture, and she feels him breathe twice and then pulse into her, coming at the very idea of defiling her like that. And she takes this as some small win, because he’d never have let himself have this filthy pleasure when they were still who’d they’d used to be. She just clutches him close and tenses as he pumps his hips deep. And then his fingers are tight, his body trigger-tensed; he growls, _Emily_ , in a voice like pure fucking sex, and she’s done. She thinks of the red dress, she thinks of feeling him come, and she climaxes in his shower with his fingers leaving bruises in her side and his come sliding down her leg. Breathless and spent with her legs folding under her, they stay like that for a long moment until he pulls out and steps away and leaves her hollow. Washing each other, in silence, he washes the soap from his hands and cocks a finger up into her with a curious glance, his eyes hooding prettily when he feels how slick she still is. She throbs around him, wiping soap from his hip, and looks at that gaze and knows they’re not done.

They switch the water off and make their way naked to the bedroom. She shouldn’t be here. But she’s not going to leave yet.

They’re not done.

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited August, 2017.**


End file.
